Ace Rimmer, Keeping up Appearances
by Spooky-Cactus
Summary: Ace Rimmer's inner thoughts. Depressing in manner of Marvin the Paranoid Android. My first Red Dwarf fic. Sort of implied ifyoulookatittherightway could possibly be seen as hinting towards ListerRimmer.


Ace Rimmer, Keeping up Appearances

AN: I have very, very little experience of writing this kind of fanfic, so please tell me what you think about it! If you like this, I wrote a sort of sibling fic for Zaphod Beeblebrox, which you can find at.. whatever you call the page you get to by clicking my name. I shall call it Frank. So go to Frank.

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I feel like an impostor. Can I do this? Why should I do this? Why should I live my life in another man's shadow, just because it's an unbroken legacy or some such garbage? Technically not another man, technically another version of me, but still... I wake up on this tiny ship with the dimension jumper and the computer who's in love with me and I wonder what the smeg I'm doing here.  
  
I'm a fake. Everywhere I go, people admire me. But it's not me they admire. My computer is in love with me. But it's not really me she loves. It's Ace, the first Ace, the root of all this nonsense. I hate him. This is odd, considering he's me, but every time an Ace has met an Arnie they are always like porcupines in each other's underwear. I hate the way I've got to act, the way I've got to grin and think nothing about sacrificing myself for the safety of others. The way I've got to talk and wear that itchy wig and say 'Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast'. I don't know how much longer I can stand all this. I keep thinking I'll crack, that I'll break cover, that I'll let someone who isn't a Rimmer know that I'm not the first Ace. But I've got to keep up appearances.  
  
I remember when the last Ace handed down the job. On his deathbed, he told me, "You've got to keep up appearances. Don't let anyone know that you're not the first Ace." For an infinitely long moment before he died, I saw the emotions in his eyes as if they were my own. World-weariness. Relief. Pondering. Concern, pity perhaps, for me. And finally resignation. "Smoke me a kipper," he said, I'll be back for breakfast." Then he died. I didn't realise it then, but I know what he was thinking. He was tired of the Ace life, relieved that it was over. He wondered whether he could just stop this whole scam right now... but knew that he couldn't. He felt sorry for me, because I was about to begin that life. Then he was resigned. Resigned to saying those words. "Smoke me a kipper..." It scares me to know that I'll die with those words on my lips. And I can't end the legacy. I know I can't. I don't have the courage. I'm not the first Ace and I won't be the last.. I'm just another.  
  
Maybe it's not so odd to think of Ace as another person. Because every other Ace has had one thing in common. We're all alternate versions of Arnold Judas Rimmer. But Ace.. the original Ace, the goit, got a lot of breaks that none of us did, and one of them occurred when he was named. Maybe its easier to be a hero when your name is Arnold James Rimmer.  
  
There's a mind patch that the computer does to every new Ace. We get the skills of the original Ace, and his memories. But this little piece of his mind is volatile, like it has a mind of its own. Sometimes, when I'm out adventuring, I can just let him take over, so it really is Ace doing it. But I always feel terrible afterwards, like I'm just letting him use my body to get his own way. It's horrible, but sometimes.. sometimes I can't stop him. He's stronger than I am. But damned if I'm just going to give up and let him take over, because whatever the benefits to all six universes, my first thought has always been for myself. Sure, I save people's lives and perform ridiculous self-sacrificing stuff, but that's just keeping up appearances. Deep down, I'm a weasely self-serving little smeghead, otherwise known as Arnold Rimmer. That's the real me, before I became Ace. So what worries me is not just that there's this someone else who could take over my life if I stopped fighting him, but it's also the fact that he's a better person than I am. But how is one person 'better' than another? You put two human beings side by side and ask people to decide who's 'better' and they'll pick the one who's less of a git. That's Ace alright. Bastard.  
  
So I keep being Ace. I wrestled an alligator, even. Wrestled an alligator on a plane, then fell out a moment before it exploded, rode the alligator like a surfboard into some guy's head, and saved a princess. On a motorbike. And wrote that bloody catchphrase in the sky as I left. Smoke me a kipper.  
  
But I was fatally wounded in that fight. Even now I'm a hologram, living on borrowed time. And the Ace-lore says I find myself a replacement. As I pick a dimension, strangely enough the first one other than his own that the first Ace went to, there's a glimmer of hope. The only thing that could ever stop an Ace being Ace would be an emotional attachment. None of the other Arnold Rimmers ever had one, because.. well, because they were Arnold Rimmer. But this Arnie, and the young human who the mind-patch tells me to call Skipper... it's not a proper relationship or anything, but there's something there. Even if they were just friends, it might be enough. I know I'll never stop it myself. But maybe he can.  
  
I come on board their ship and try to train him. I know he thinks I'm insufferable, but I'm Ace - how could I not be? So even now as I lie on a bunk in their ship with my light bee bleeding vital power, I'm praying that one day Arnie will return here, and never leave again. Yes, I'm an athiest. But still.  
  
He doesn't know what I'm thinking. Ace occupies my mind to the last. And as I can feel myself slipping away, my mouth forms around the first syllable of that catchphrase. I can't fight it, however much I want to. I'll die as Ace, but maybe this man - my double - can stop this madness. With a flash of realisation that feels like a kick in the ribs, I realise that the last Ace probably thought the same about me. As I remember his last moments, I know the same emotions are being played out on my face. One of my last feelings is a new one. Concern. Concern for another person, even if he is another me, and coming from the Arnold Judas Rimmer part of me. That's never happened before. End this piece of smeg, I will him silently, just hang up that stupid wig and forget it all. But my mouth has different ideas of what to say.  
  
"Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast."  
  
Well, I suppose I've got to keep up appearances.

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End file.
